


The end of twilight

by wishfulcanadian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, F/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8154613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishfulcanadian/pseuds/wishfulcanadian
Summary: The War is over and all that is left is for Draco Malfoy to sort out the broken pieces of his life with whatever is remaining of his dignity. 
In the immediate chaos that follows and changed circumstances, Draco tries to make sense of his impending marriage on the horizon in the midst of Death Eaters murdered gruesomely and death threats to his father. 
(Or, the story of how Draco and Astoria came to be.)





	1. prelude

THE FIRST THING DRACO NOTICED ABOUT ASTORIA WAS THAT SHE WAS DIFFERENT FROM HIS MOTHER.

The girl was exceedingly tall - almost matching Draco for his height - and quite reedy, like she was one and a quarter dozen broomsticks wound together. She was as dark as his mother was pale, with rich brown hair flowing down her waist. Oh, Astoria had all the classic Grecian pureblood features: the long face, prominent nose, tan skin, sharp face bones, but there was something different about her; a sort of perennial warmth that Draco guessed she kept hidden. Draco could never remember his mother being anything other than cold and aloof, haughty indifference bleeding from every pore of her being, practised through years of pureblood etiquette. 

"My eldest, Daphne," Lord Greengrass was saying proudly as he showed off his eldest, beautiful, unmarried daughter. Daphne, dressed in glittering emerald robes cut in French fashion - clearly to impress his mother - smirked lightly as she batted her glittered eyelashes and curtsied. 

"Draco," she said pleasantly, inclining her golden head in a way that catches the light of the diamond chandelier above their heads. "It is so very good to see you back in society again."

Draco stiffened imperceptibly. "Thank you, Daphne."

They had gone to school for seven years and lived in the same House; this alone allowed for Draco and Daphne to address each other in familiarity. 

"My youngest," Lord Greengrass continued, evidently encouraged by Draco's reaction to Daphne, "Astoria."

Draco had seen her a few times at Hogwarts, mostly hanging around Daphne or Millicent. He only remembered her because Pansy would complain about how a younger Ravenclaw was allowed to enter the Slytherin Common Room and distract all of them. 

"Charmed," Draco said to the girl. She was holding herself rigid, he noticed, as her shoulders tensed when he dared to look in her eyes. There was none of Daphne's elegance in her; it showed from the formal black dress robes she wore that would have been better suited at a funeral house.

"Likewise."

This exchange was curt, and Draco noticed Lord Greengrass' forehead crease. Before he opened his mouth, Draco's mother thankfully intercedes. 

"They are lovely, Absolem," his mother said, wearing her most charming smile, "Melania - Merlin keep her soul - and you have raised them well."

Astoria's eyes darkened at the mention of her late mother, but she stood still. If they were in school, and he still believed he was at the top of the food chain, Draco would have taunted her. 

"Perhaps," his mother breezily said, "you would like a drink? I know that Lucius is simply dying to see you after you and your family returned from Santorini." 

His mother absently brushed her lips against Draco's pale cheek and whispered lowly, "Behave."

He resisted the urge to yell at her 'I always do!' but knowing that she wouldn't appreciate his cheek in such a public setting, he let it slide. The uncomfortable silence that should have permeated after his mother and Lord Greengrass left did not as Daphne immediately latched on to his arm and started chattering. 

"Oh, Draco, I did not know you had such a lovely ballroom!" Her voice was properly awed, and Draco, for once agreed with her. 

It was his twenty second birthday celebrations, and every Pureblood family in the never used before Grand Ballroom knew that this soiree was a testament that Malfoys had managed to come out of the War on top; a feat that no one from the Old Alliance imagined them to. Draco's three year Auror Probation period was over, and while Lucius' wand was snapped at the end of his trial and he was awarded lifetime probation, he was seemingly on his road to recovery - especially since him and Mother planned to relocate to the main continent, probably France, later this year. 

After Draco had chosen to get married to a young, Pureblood daughter of good social standing. 

This was the second reason his mother and the entire battalion of house elves had cleaned the manor and infused it with new wards and freshening magic. 

His parents wanted to put him on the marriage market and while Draco knew that although his family was far from being poor, the Malfoys needed dowry. He picked upon it the moment his mother got all their robes from Gladrags instead of Twaffle and Twitfits and his father was slowly liquidating his shares in the Malfoy Apothecary. 

He hadn't protested his parents' decision. 

"It was built in the 1780s," Draco told Daphne, attempting to smile, "The last time this was opened to everyone was before the Fiendfyre of 1862 destroyed half of the East Wing in the manor."

"That is fascinating," Astoria said politely, causing Draco's eyebrows to raise slightly. Daphne quickly echoed her sister's statements, but Astoria wasn't looking at him. She instead asked her sister, "Daphne, I think I spotted Fanny Gurdgeon in the crowd. Might I be excused?"

She kissed Daphne's cheek before she could reply and smiled blankly at her sister's narrowed glare. 

"Draco," she intoned his name and extended her hand to him. When he went to kiss it, she chose to grip his tightly and give him a firm handshake. This time, Draco did not bother hiding his surprise. "It was a pleasure."

With a little twist of her skirt, she disappeared into the crowd mingling about the brightly illuminated hall. 

"Is she always like this?" Draco asked an unhappy Daphne at his side, more than a little bewildered at Astoria's cool rejection. 

Daphne huffed, her hand tightening around his elbow. "Rebellious of our ways, yes," her lips tightened. "Honestly, does she ever think how many possible suitors must have looked at her latest exchange? She is never going to get married."

At Daphne's moan, Draco stifled a chuckle. He was still scanning the crowd to chance upon Astoria. When he finally found her with a witch her age, he saw that she was moving her hands around animatedly. 

She paused momentarily and looked right at Draco from across the room, and simply lifted her chin as if daring him to criticize her behavior before returning back to the conversation. 

Draco smiled. 

"Perhaps," he cocked his head and observed Daphne, "you and your sister would like to come visit the newly re-opened Rose Garden tomorrow?"

Daphne squealed in delight.


	2. the curious case of the winter rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation for the Malfoy Manor to the Greengrass girls turns worrisome for Draco Malfoy.

DAPHNE AND ASTORIA APPARATED AT THE EDGE OF THE WARDS AT TEN THE NEXT MORNING.

There was a small outhouse station for guards, mainly for appearance purposes, as the Malfoys had been wealthy landowners living amongst Muggles. After the war with Grindelwald, Abraxas Malfoy had installed a fireplace in the outhouse that would take their guests directly to the sitting room of the manor as opposed to walking four miles from the ward edge to the main house. The fireplaces inside the house was mainly used for fire calls and only immediate family or an authorised visitor could to enter the house. 

Abraxas had been paranoid in his last years; Narcissa, when she married Lucius added several Black Family wards to the fireplace and the house – especially the part where they all lived.   
Not even Voldemort dared to mess with the Black Family wards, and it was Bellatrix’s one act of silent defiance against her beloved master to not pressure her sister into removing the family wards. Draco was waiting for the Greengrass sisters dressed in trim cut grey robes, one hand behind his back and close fisted. 

When he had told his mother that he was inviting Daphne and Astoria to see the Rose Garden she had looked surprised before smiling in approval. 

“I am glad you have chosen your companions well for the morning, Draco,” she had said, before she had hid her face with the latest copy of Witch Weekly. 

“Thank you, mother,” he had replied, “I did tell you that I would try to secure a bride by the end of the season.”

It had caught his mother’s attention and her eyes gleamed. “You are looking to court one of the Greengrass sisters.” She paused, then praised him. “I approve. The Greengrass family has been around as long as ours and Absolem managed to cover his involvement very well. Daphne would make a very fine addition to the Malfoy family.”

“Or Astoria,” he had reminded, and his mother smiled indulgently solidifying Draco’s belief that his mother did not know what to make of the younger Greeengrass girl. That makes two of us, Mother, Draco thought. 

Daphne exited the green flames first, running her hand down over her daring crimson daily robes with darker crimson embroidery all over in strange runic patterns. Draco knew instantly when he kissed her knuckles that she had chosen the colour specifically so it could make her hair and skin glow more; he also had to appreciate the way it brought out her striking blue eyes.   
Astoria wasn’t as steady as she stepped out of the fireplace. 

“One would think after twenty years of doing this, I would be a natural,” she muttered as she shook the soot off her figure. She blinked when she saw Draco and inclined her head, “Draco.”

In all truthfulness, he couldn’t help staring at her. The dress she wore was too revealing at the shoulders to be dress robes even if they were full sleeved. Draco racked his brain to remember if he had seen this kind of fashion anywhere before; his mother had been the pureblood society’s trendsetter for years. When he took another look at the ankle length dress in Ravenclaw blue made from smooth fabric, it dawned on him. Daphne’s word from last night about her sister’s silent rebellion rang in his ears. 

Astoria was wearing a Muggle dress. 

Not wanting to draw suspicion, he held out his hand to shake this time. “Astoria,” he said, his voice bland. He saw surprise first, and then pleasure cross Astoria’s face before she took the offered hand and shook it firmly. Draco held on to her hand a second longer. 

“Shall we?” he extended his elbow to Daphne who eagerly took it despite the mutinous glare she shot at him when he shook hands with Astoria, almost as if she was betrayed at the thought of him encouraging her sister’s behaviour. Propriety demanded Draco pay attention to the elder sister and escort her out of the sitting room. Somehow, he knew Astoria wouldn’t mind walking by herself. If anything, she would have snubbed his offered elbow. 

When Astoria darted next to him, Draco swallowed. 

There was a thigh split on the side of her dress from beneath which her lace stockings peeked out.   
\---  
“ – these are the winter roses,” Draco said, a hint of pride creeping into his tone as he led his two companions to the far end of the greenhouse where his greatest achievement sat, neatly in two rows and ready to bloom when the first snow fell and every other plant withered under the ice. 

He heard the quiet intakes of breath from both the girl on his arm, and the one next to him, and hid a smile. While Draco had been skilled at potions – something Lucius strived to hone in him from when he was a boy – it was gardening that washed over him like calm. Herbology that was taught at Hogwarts was a joke; the curriculum had been severely outdated – a misfortune Draco’s father tried to change at every start of the term meeting – and Draco, while admittedly knowing how each plant could be used to defend himself in situations, was more interested in harvesting materials for potions. Plants that he knew Snape went deep into the Forbidden Forest to gather as opposed to growing them in the school greenhouses. 

The simplicity of getting dirt under his fingers, feeling the Earth that held the Manor thrum with magic as he cross bred a few magical varieties and potted plants, healed so many scars in the past few years than Draco willed to admit. This vast greenhouse, almost triple the size of a standard Hogwarts one, housed every plant that Draco used in homemade potions. At the centre of the house, however, he had a dome constructed that was kept open so the rare varieties of roses he had acquired from magical communities far and wide could be exposed to the sunlight that was now streaming in through the glass panes. 

He had accidentally learnt from Bellatrix during one of her feverish rants that Narcissa had loved to tend to the roses in their Family house. The garden, which had been Andromeda’s idea, was destroyed when she eloped with a Mudblood by Evan Rosier, who had been engaged to Andromeda and whose family challenged the House of Black to a Wizard’s Duel. Bellatrix refused to tell him how the matter sorted itself out, but she did say that Narcissa did not visit that part of the grounds anymore. 

Draco’s roses, arranged in a spiral staircase around a large serpentine staff, were in full bloom.

“Don’t touch them,” Daphne suddenly snapped, drawing him out of his trance. She had struck Astoria’s smarting hand that was outstretched towards the winter rose saplings. Astoria stood in a daze, bewildered and blinking furiously. “You know they can curse you of they aren’t in full bloom.” 

Astoria flushed darkly. “I didn’t mean to, Daphne,” she said, very quietly and Draco was alarmed to see that she was barely holding back her emotions. “It just sung.”

Daphne’s face changed, the sharp contours of her face softened and her eyes widened in sympathy. Draco politely went to stand next to a pot of Mimbulus Mimbletonia which was quite contented with Draco’s petting. There was some whispering between the two and Draco caught words like ‘temptation’ and ‘St Mungo’s’ drifting over to where he stood. 

As if she sensed his curiosity, Daphne came up to him and said regretfully, “We are very sorry, Draco, but Astoria and I need to go.”

Draco saw that Astoria did not look at him, and Daphne’s expression was pleading. She looked almost vulnerable. 

“Anything I can help you ladies with?” he questioned them evenly and was a little disappointed that both of them quickly shook their heads. He almost pouted; he would have liked to be a part of a secret. “Very well.”

Daphne kissed his cheek in relief, and Draco was ashamed to admit that it burned. “Thank you,” she said, “I know the both of us were looking forward for today.” 

Astoria nodded fervently and unable to decide if she wanted to convey her relief as her sister did, she stood awkwardly next to Daphne. 

“Would you like me to walk you to the main house?” 

“No, that’s okay,” Daphne spoke quickly. “Do you mind if we summon our house-elf to Apparate us home?” 

She extended her left arm that was smooth and alabaster under the light bell sleeve. “Her name is Chitty."

“Of course,” Draco acquiesced, bringing out his wand from his holster. He was lucky to hold it, especially as the Ministry was only too eager to snap it like they did his father’s. He was lucky that it was spared, even if his wand was restricted to perform only certain spells – the standard OWL level Charms and Transfiguration. Thankfully, Ward Magic and Runes was instinctual, and Draco felt the shift in the ward – a temporary hole – so the Greengrass’ elf could Apparate in and out. 

The loud snap alerted Draco to the small creature that appeared in the room. It was fairly decent to look at, despite being an elf with strange nose and ears. Draco thought it must have been in the family for quite a number of years; its eyes sang with intelligence and warmth - a sign of duties performed well and duties delegated well. Dobby and Kreacher, from the time that aged elf stayed in the Malfoy cellars during his fifth year, had always had a touch of insanity colouring their eyes when he had known them. 

“Chitty,” Daphne instructed, “Take Astoria and I back to the manor.” 

“Please,” Astoria added, shooting a glare at Daphne who shrugged it off. The last thing he saw as the elf apparated and the ward closed itself was Astoria meeting his eyes and doing a little curtsey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to Dumbledore from OotP, "Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry. Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius's bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him." Since Dobby was as unhappy with his masters, the Malfoys, the forcing bit is reflected as touch of insanity in the elves' eyes, a reflection of how they are being made to use their magic. This is assumption ofc. Since CHitty serves the Greengrasses loyally and they treat her just as well, her magic is stable and her eyes radiate warmth and intelligence. 
> 
> how are you liking Astoria and Daphne so far???? and thanks for sticking around!


	3. forged magical signatures and almost criminals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco discovers an attempt to frame his father for an illegal sale from the Malfoy Apothecary and the reason why Aurors Potter and Weasley are suspicious.

DRACO ONLY HURRIED TO THE MANOR HALF AN HOUR LATER WHEN HE FELT THE WARDS SHIFT TO SIGNAL APPARITION INTO THE MAIN HOUSE.

Even though it had been over three years, it felt strange to Draco that the wards depended on him and his magic as opposed to the Lord of the House, his father. It was his mother who brought forth the notion that his father transfer the key to the wards to Draco the day he turned of age. It was the first time his parents disagreed in front of him. 

Draco remembered his father being furious that his mother would even dare to question his supremacy over her and Draco. The wards, his father reasoned angrily, will have to obey the will and magic of the Master of the House. It was law, and every Pureblooded family abided by the tradition since the time of Merlin. The members of the house were safe as long as it was the intent of the Head of the House. 

“Tell me Lucius,” his mother said coolly, “Is that the reason why the most powerful wizard in the world sits in our dining room and threatens us with a Crucio every ten minutes?” 

Lucius had spluttered at that and Narcissa continued in that same voice, a little octave higher than her usual tone of speech that bespoke her frigid anger. 

“Your magic, which you were gifted to command, is now commanded by the Dark Lord and the wards know of it. If you weren’t spineless enough to pledge your magic to Him, he wouldn’t have been able to set foot in his house.” She had spit at his face. “You disgust me, husband.”

When their trial was over, and the Malfoys were pardoned with probations and life sentences trapped inside Malfoy Manor, Draco was asked to key the words to allow four people to Apparate in and out of the Manor permanently. 

The Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Head of DMLE, Marius Ogden, the Saviour of the Wizarding World (Draco mentally snorted in sarcasm) Harry Potter, and good for nothing Ron Weasley.   
His ancestors must be rolling in their graves at the thought of a Weasley setting foot in the Manor. 

The shock of red hair when he entered the living room where his mother was hosting the two new unwelcome Apparitions nearly made him groan. 

“Potter,” Draco said as way of greeting at the familiar thin boy that had been his school nemesis. Draco accepted Potter’s nod and purposefully waited for a moment before letting his voice drip with disgust and sneered, “Weasel.”

Weasley growled at him as if he were an unrestrained beast until Potter chided him. “Please sit,” Draco said gesturing to the expansive sofa, probably repeating the same words his mother must have said earlier. Weasley muttered something under his breath – Draco was sure it was uncomplimentary – and bit out, “It’s fine, Malfoy, we’ll just stand.”

“Would you like for me to fetch Lucius?” his mother questioned and Draco spied a small white paper turned upside down that she pressed to her chest. It must be another picture of her sister, Andromeda, and her grandson. Draco had seen Potter wordlessly sneaking his mother photographs of the boy every time he came over to Manor for his quarterly reports. Draco also knew that his mother was slowly reaching out to the only remaining family she had, and that while her and her sister were exchanging sparse letters, there were so many years of untold words and betrayals on both ends for either sister to go back to the strong relationship they had shared in their childhood. 

But at least they were both trying, and for some reason, receiving a cutting reply to her long letters from her sister, only seemed to make his mother happy. Draco conceded that he would never be able to understand female relationships. 

“That would be nice, Mrs Malfoy,” Potter said, unfailingly polite to Draco’s mother. His mother nodded briskly and with a sharp glance at Draco indicating that he should indulge their unexpected guests with some mid – day drinks, left the room. If anything, this was a ruse for her to buy her husband some time to smoothen his appearance and prepare himself to not lose his cool. 

“Would either of you like anything to drink?” Draco asked, settling himself on the sofa as graceful as he was taught; spine straight, just bent enough to rest it lightly against the cushion, shoulder stiff, and neck straightly set. Draco would have plastered a sneer on his face usually, but in the recent years, he had it saved for people who deserved his contempt. Like Weasley. 

Weasley sneered back, although it was more of a snarl, and fingered his wand menacingly. Draco simply contented himself with a pleased expression on his face; he knew that Weasley would only become more annoyed with him if Draco pretended that him being in his house did not matter at all. If Draco knew the Weasley from school – and it looked like he hadn’t grown up at all after the War – he hated being looked over and that was precisely what Draco would do, he decided in his head, pretend Weasley’s presence didn’t matter. 

Predictably, both Aurors refused his offer with Weasley saying something about Draco’s hospitality and Potter chastising him before throwing Draco an exasperated look. Draco wanted to say something like, “Having troubles keeping your pet on a leash, Potter?” but he stayed silent, valuing his magic more. Draco really didn’t want to get in trouble with the Ministry for hexing two Aurors - especially with his impending duties as a Malfoy heir. 

The tapping of the cane indicated the arrival of his father, and Draco stood up silently in deference of the patriarch not daring to sit before his father did. He noted that his father was eyeing his stance with approval and it felt bittersweet. 

“Aurors Potter and Weasley,” his father’s voice greeted the standing Aurors in their navy battle robes, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Draco had to hand it to his father. How the man managed to weave contempt into the diplomatic words delivered neutrally, he would never know. At least Potter seemed to have heard the contempt, and stiffened his shoulder. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Potter looked at Lucius keenly, his green eyes glowing brighter by the moment, “Are you in contact with any of your old allies?”

It took only a second for Draco to register that Potter was using Legillimency on his father. His wandless father. His father’s eyes glazed briefly for a moment before he threw Potter out of his mind. Potter didn’t seem affected as if he had been expecting the counter attack.

“No.”

Draco’s rage flared and he kept his fingers tightly coiled around his wand, ready to attack Potter in case he tried to curse his father into revealing the answer he wanted. 

“Are you sure?” Potter pressed on, seemingly uncaring about the fact that he had used Mind Magic on the patriarch of the house who would not be able to defend himself with a wand.

Dark fury crossed his father’s face before it closed off and he said tightly, “Yes. The Ministry has made the Manor a permanent no - fly zone. Surely, any letters we sent out or received would be ready by the Aurors before reaching their destination?”

Potter looked faintly ashamed. Draco knew his father would lock himself up in his study and brew as many poisons as he could before calling a house elf and vanishing the cauldron. 

“Then, Mr Malfoy,” Weasley began smugly, “how would you explain this?”

It seemed to be a receipt of some sort, and when Draco glanced at it, he could see the Malfoy Apothecary seal on it, branded on the top right corner like the Dark Mark. 

He recoiled his rage abruptly and quickly fear replaced it when he saw his father’s magical signature at the bottom of the impervious parchment. If his father was lying…

Lucius’ face had blanched and genuine confusion unspooled on his face. “This is not mine,” he stated, grabbing the receipt and peering at his signature. “I would have required my wand to do this.”

Weasley still sounded smug when he spoke. “So you don’t disagree that you sold two Bloodroot pots, then? Recently banned by the 2001 edict passed by the Ministry?”

Magic be damned, thought Draco hotly, he could punch Weasley now. 

“Of course not,” his father sneered. Then, at Potter he said, “Malfoy Apothecary is one of the seven Apothecaries worldwide that is supported by the International Potions Guild. We were granted a petition from the Ministry of Magic – a permanent one signed by the Goblin’s Oath – that as long anyone bearing the name of Malfoy by blood signed the receipt magically, we would be exempted from the law that bans selling dangerous plants or animal parts.” 

“But you haven’t reported to the Unspeakables’ office that such a purchase has been made, Mr Malfoy,” Weasley almost sing sang the words, “Last time we checked that particular Oath, we came across the clause that stated the sale could only happen if the Unspeakables’ approved of the buyer’s intentions.”

His father now looked annoyed and distressed. “That’s because I did not use my magical signature, Auror.” 

The look he shot Weasley was similar to the one Snape reserved for the most thick headed of students. 

“Either you must be lying really well and conceal it using Occlumency,” Potter deduced quietly, “Or someone is in possession of your wand and is trying to frame you for a crime.”

Lucius nodded. 

“Where did you find it, Potter?” Draco questioned, silently retrieving the receipt from his father. “It says the April 19th. I was in the Apothercary that day, and I can guarantee we did not sell any Bloodroots.”

Potter’s head snapped up at him. “Can I have the memory, Draco?”

He said simply, “Only if you tell me why.”

A silent war seemed to be going on between Weasley and Potter. Stern nods and threatening eye rolls from Potter’s side, and vehement lip thinning and teeth gritting from Weasley. Lucius was watching the exchange with a detached curiosity, and whatever the war was about, Potter seemed to have emerged victorious. He took out his wand, and Draco silently had his out. Tense silence passed in which Weasley had already pressed his wand to Draco’s pulsing Adam Apple. 

“Don’t even thing about it, ferret,” Weasly hissed, driving his wand harder. Draco refused to let his eyes water in pain. 

“Ron!” Potter snapped, “What the hell do you think you are doing? Sit down.”

Weasley moved into his seat, but he still had his wand trained at Draco, eyes filled with primal loathing. Draco responded with a look of his own. 

“I am going to just set up a privacy ward, Mr Malfoy,” Potter was addressing Lucius with that touch of nobility that made Draco want to gag in disgust. “Is that alright?”

His father nodded sharply once, and Potter waved his wand in such quick motions that Draco blinked in awe when the invisible shield around them shone with Celtic Runes before it blended into the surroundings. 

Potter heaved, and then said in a quiet tone, “Someone is killing former Death Eaters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Deathly Hallows - 1, a Superior Red Wine bottle with wine matured for 1000 years sourced from the Malfoy Apothecary is seen. I am going to go with the assumption that it is still owned by the Malfoys presumably present either in Diagon Alley - mostly unlikely imo as from Harry's pov we see quite a lot of shops mentioned in PoA - or Knocturn Alley - not the shady Burke & Borgin part, but perhaps a little closer to the entrance of the Alley. I am also going to assume that Malfoys' primary source of income is the renowned Apothecary along with a few vineyards in France and Italy - which you will see later in the story, I promise. Draco was always a good student at Potions, so I think Malfoys must have an affinity for brewing poisons. (Remember the poisoned mead from HBP?) 
> 
> Oh, also Bloodroot is a poisonous plant with blood red blossoms and a poisonous root used in Bloodroot poisons which affect the internal organs of an animal/human. Blood poisons, I would hope, would be banned after Kingsley became minister. so yeahh, tell me how this was?


	4. butterfly blossoms and new acquaintanceship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's mourning of the past gets interrupted by a surprise note from Astoria.

DRACO DID NOT REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE CONSCIOUSLY CUT HIS HAIR.

His silver hair now poked annoyingly at his collar bone, and no matter how much of Sleakeasy’s hair potion he used, his hair simply refused to stay the dignified locks with a daring side part it used to be when he was at school. Draco glared at himself in annoyance and raked another impatient hand through his hair. His mirror image echoed his action, and when Draco sneered, he was alarmed a little to see that it came off as a pitiful reflection of what his sneers used to be; superior, malicious, and Malfoy. 

He did not like this new development in his character.

Potter and Weasley had left before lunch with the promise that a warding team would be around to strengthen the wards of the Manor. Potter had looked at both Draco and his father and said plainly, “We have a feeling that you might be next. We would rather have you alive and under our protection until we hunt down the killer.” 

To Draco, it made sense in a roundabout way. Public opinion towards him and his family might still be sour even years after the war, but the ministry would rather have the Malfoys dead by machinations of their own instead of a rogue killer on the loose. It was a cause Draco could easily acquiesce – even if it caused his mother to turn pale and return to her room barely minutes into the lunch. 

Perhaps, it was a testament that he had grown up without conscious effort on his part if he was taking the news of his family being hunted down as casually as he was doing it then. 

A soft pop alerted him to the presence of his house elf – one of the three the ministry allowed them to retain after the war – and Draco knew before it opened its mouth to talk that his answer would be the same it had been for the past three years. 

“No, Trippy,” he told the elf which held its ears in its hand, “I would like my supper to be served in my room.” 

He looked at its yellow eyes meaningfully in the mirror. “Just like usual.” 

Trippy seemed to deflate and heavily debated arguing with Draco, but he knew it wouldn’t. Mainly because while the elf was his mother’s, Draco was whom the house recognised as the master. It would kill the elf – literally – if it went against Draco’s wishes.

It wasn’t a good position to be for anyone – elf or not, in Draco’s opinion – but it suited his purposes just fine. The dining room with the long mahogany table and polished wooden chairs held nightmares Draco would rather not experience when he was awake and did not have access to a vial of Dreamless Sleep. 

The elf sunk low, clearly defeated at having been unable to convince Draco to join his parents for dinner in the dining room yet again. “Yes, Master Draco.”

With another soft pop, the house elf vanished, leaving Draco alone in his bedroom. He had gotten rid of most of his Slytherin memorabilia – including a particularly embarrassing flying figurine of himself on a broom as a Seeker that Pansy had given him for his fifteenth birthday – and the only indication that he had been a part of the lest liked Hogwarts House was his satin bed coverings and the Slytherin scarf he had draped around his bedpost. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of that, since he had bought it on his first trip to Hogsmeade and all Slytherins in his year had gotten one. If Draco remembered correctly, it had been Daphne’s idea to drag them all into an unnamed knittery that was overflowing with sweaters and scarves and gloves. 

“Premium wool only, dearies,” the elderly woman grinned toothily at Draco’s small group gathered under the doorbell. She whispered a little wickedly, “Interwoven with Acromantula silk.” 

The scarf had cost him two galleons – Vince had grumbled about how he could buy all of them one round of Butterbeer for that amount of money – and Pansy, Daphne, and Tracy had gotten matching sweaters in black and asked the witch to weave the Slytherin House crest in the middle. Millicent had quietly called the endeavour ridiculously childish and proceeded to buy another one of those scarves in Ravenclaw colours for her younger brother. 

Draco felt a sharp pang of loneliness at the memory of his Housemates whom he hadn’t seen since the War ended. He knew that Goyle was in Azkaban serving his third year out of ten because he surrendered to the Aurors. Zabini had fled to Italy with his mother and for all he knew, was probably hunting down vampires for fun. Draco did not like thinking about Nott for fear of the jealousy that would course through him. If everyone thought Draco had it easy, they must not have heard about Nott. Nott Sr had refused to let his son take the Dark Mark claiming to the Dark Lord that it would be easy for Nott, as the Head Boy, to convince Hogwarts students to join the Dark Lord if he was seen as a family rebel. 

While Nott did his fair share of torturing students under the Carrows’ administration, Draco also knew that Nott did his best to keep out of all the gore and the violence that had run rampant in what should have been Draco’s last year at Hogwarts. 

Nott Sr’s ingenious plan meant that it made it too easy for him to ‘disown’ Nott from the family for not taking the Dark Mark while giving Nott full access to an overseas account that carried the entire family fortune. In the end, while Nott Sr had gotten killed in the battle, his son retained the estate, the house elves, goblin gold, Nott Wizarding Jewellers and his innocence. It made Draco mad that he was jealous of what a dead father did to protect his son. Nott was also getting engaged to Tracy Davis and as Draco’s mother put it when she saw the announcement on the Prophet, “Theo Nott is living up to their family motto ‘Non Deficere’, I see. Not surprising since his grandfather still married to find an excellent match for his father despite losing half his fortune over Muggle gambling.”  
It was thinking about Pansy that caused his heart to twinge painfully. 

He might not have liked her that much in a romantic way, but she had been one of his first friends growing up and she had been privy to a few parts of his life that no one else were. He knew she was alive because the Aurors had apprehended her and her mother in Ireland when they were trying to flee the country and that had been two years back. Draco missed her the most, if he were honest, but he could not afford to seek her, or any of his former classmates out. Except for Daphne, and if she was still as tight with Tracy and Theo as she had been when they were at school, maybe Millicent. He hoped she was still alive and well hidden. Her father had funded the Dark Lord, and the Ministry had Graham Bulstrode at Nurmengard since he was spotted on German soil. 

Draco sighed, giving up on letting his hair behave the way he wanted it to and briefly thought about asking his mother to fancy some ribbons so he could tie them around his hair like his father did when a mild hoot near his window got his attention.

A Ministry owl with a collar bearing the initials MoM sat patiently on the sill, crooning softly to get his attention. Draco walked over to retrieve the two cream envelopes the owl carried, and the seal was broken. Draco squashed a wave of irritation at the contents being read already by whichever Auror Rookie was tasked that day with censoring any letter that the Malfoys received or sent out.   
“Basic surveillance procedure,” the Minister had claimed when he had laid down the ward that would repel any incoming owl to the Ministry, “Don’t worry, the Surveillance team will not be able to remember any of the contents when they leave the room after work. Unless they chance upon questionable letters and have to report it immediately to their superiors.”  
Draco sneered at the own that was squawking when it couldn’t find water or treats in his room. 

Surprisingly, the first letter was from Daphne, and the second was from Astoria. Draco read Astoria’s first because her envelope looked heavier. It was short note, and unwillingly scribbled down it seemed.

Draco –   
I am sorry for disapparating suddenly this morning. Your rose garden was fascinating, and I would have loved to stay a bit longer. As an apology, please find included Butterfly Blossom seeds from the Greengrass Conservatories in London. Father bred them by crossing Boom Berry and Valerian. They attract butterflies and your plants might need all the natural processes of fertilisation they can get.   
\- Astoria

Draco felt the first real smile of the evening stretch his lips. Almost worshipfully, he held the envelope upside down so the packet of seeds slid out. He felt a little giddy on smelling them so he quickly shut the small paper packet and slid it back into the envelope. Turning the back of the note, Draco reached for a brightly coloured peacock quill and dipped it in the greenest ink he could find before writing his response.

Astoria –   
Thank you for the Butterfly Blossom seeds. I have read much about your father’s experiments with breeding plants, and I must say that I am excited like a schoolboy to finally have my hands on one of his illustrious creations. It surprises me that he was able to successfully cross a Valerian with another species. If I remember correctly, they are notorious for their non – compatibility with other plant roots if they haven’t been neutralised by aconite. I distinctly remember Hannah Abbot’s cauldron exploding in Potions when we made Draught of Sleeping Death because she did not wait until all the other ingredients had settled before adding diced valerian roots. 

Please do not apologise for this morning. I understand that there might be something more and I do not know you well enough to intrude and make you uncomfortable. You are welcome to visit my garden any time you wish.   
\- Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Lucius is still the Head of the Malfoy family, but since the Manor's wards answer to Draco, he is its Master. So, obeying Draco's commands take precedence for the house elves over obeying the commands of other members of the house. I specifically did not include Draco thinking about Crabbe's death, because it will be dealt with in the forthcoming chapters. Non Deficere - the imaginary Latin motto for the House of Nott means 'Never the failure' which, given recent events in the story's timeline makes sense. okay NERDING NOW: Boom Berry is a type of fruit producing plant with juice that attracts insects. valerian is a sweet smelling, non toxic plant with blossoms and is used as one of the main ingredients in Treacle Tart. Its root is used in the Sleeping Draught and the Draught of Living Death, so I am thinking it induces a kind of hypnotization which would explain Draco feeling giddy on smelling the seeds. 
> 
> Tell me how you guys are liking the story so far!! and daphne's long ass letter is in the next chapter so stay tuned!


	5. moral reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne's letter makes Draco Malfoy rethink some of the consequences of his actions from years ago.

DAPHNE, WHILE THEY WERE AT SCHOOL, HAD ALWAYS HAD A WORD WITH WORDS.

A befuddled frown tugged at the corner of Draco’s lips when he read through Daphne’s letter. The dinner the elf had brought to him several minutes prior was growing cold, but Draco didn’t care. Roast pheasants and potatoes wasn’t something Draco would have preferred and the tall glass of pumpkin juice, Draco had found in his time at Hogwarts, didn’t go well with his mother’s choice of dinner. Draco leaned back in his winged chair more comfortable, letting his shoulders slouch in the comfort and privacy of his quarters and read the letter again. 

Dear Draco,

There is nothing I wish to write to you that could not be discussed in person, but considering the way you fidget and turn your nose up when a witch closer to your age offers you a compliment, I supposed I would be well attuned to my first thought and penning you the things I wish to say to you instead. 

You have grown, Draco, and comparing you with the schoolboy you were when I first knew you, I cannot help but let a feeling of pride hold me in its embrace. For barely a second, mind you. 

Us snakes were perhaps both the greatest perpetrators and victims of the violence and the War and there aren’t many of us alive. It surprises me - in a very good way - how well you have managed to turn your life and persona around. My father, especially, seems to be satisfied with the Malfoy fortune and thinks it is truly to your credit as a family of Slytherins that you have escaped from the War, mostly unscathed. An alliance - business or otherwise - between the Houses of Malfoy and Greengrass will be favourable in the eyes of my father, and myself, if I am being true to my soul. 

I like you, Draco, and I like what you have shown me. 

From the prissy boy with whom I shared classes with for several years, you have come into yourself as a self assured man and acting as the proxy Head of your House with great care and responsibility. Your mother’s charm shines through your actions every now and then, and you are a credit to your father’s financial intuitions. You have managed to brave the criticisms and the public misgivings about your family with great strength that epitomizes the ability of Slytherins to weather the greatest storms with force of their mind. 

I would be honored if you were to court my hand in marriage. 

It is uncommon for a witch to first make the advances, but it is also uncommon for said witch to still remain un - betrothed at the age of twenty - one. I know about your mother’s plans to move quietly to the chateau in France she received as a part of her dowry when she married your father, and if I am not mistaken, she would rather see you married and well - settled before she made the move. 

I trust you will consider my proposal, Draco, and indulge me in a response by arriving with your mother at the Greengrass Hunting Lodge in the Welsh Marshlands this weekend. My father has invited a few of his business associates from Asia, and I know your mother and you will find their brewing and harvesting techniques very interesting. 

I look forward to hearing your assent,  
Daphne 

Draco let the letter fold itself and with a flick of his wrist, threw it on his desk. The large mahogany desk carved with Nordic runes and scorched at several places was the school desk of every Malfoy heir for generations, each of them adding some new function to the wood properties or simply added more strengthening and unbreakable charms to them. Dark drapes obscured the view of the Malfoy grounds through the hemispherical window that the desk was pushed against, and Draco pulled out his wand from the discrete holster attached to his waist and murmured Revelio and watched with satisfaction as the drapes were bunched up and tied by a golden cord by an invisible force of magic. 

Draco had sat in the same position ten years ago, his little feet dangling nervously from the rather large chair, his eyes fixed on the blue sky for the barn owl that would trudge through the wards, bearing a letter from the school of his ancestors and asking for him to confirm his place at the greatest school of Wizardry to ever exist. Then, his spacious room had been lit with bluebell lamps and firefly bottoms, and the Manor grounds saw elves tending to the grass and flowers and the stables - no matter the time of day. Today, the full moon illuminated the absymal upkeep of the ground and Draco’s room, it seemed, had dimmed into the only source of luminescence being the Giridian everlasting fire torch, made from engraved goblin metal and given to Draco by his grandfather, Cygnus. 

So much had changed, Draco mused, his chin resting atop his entwined fingers and the Malfoy ring he wore rubbed harshly against his smooth jaw. His eyes were drawn inexplicably to the parchment that contained Daphne’s letter - an offer that would delight his mother, and perhaps, draw a proud smile from his father - and he sat conflicted over its contents. His duty would have him write back to her in the affirmative, and reciprocate her obvious affection, but his honour - a virtue Draco could not believe he thought he possessed - would have him distance himself from her proposition in the most polite form. An old scar itched on his forearm and Draco swallowed the agitation and ran his fingers over his full sleeve without looking down. From memory, he traced the outline of the Dark Mark - his symbol of slavery - and thought of Daphne and her head full of golden hair and teasing eyes. 

The Greengrasses had a good standing in the society that was unchanged by the outcome of the War, and he could not help but wonder how Daphne would fit in as a disgraced Lady of the Wizarding World if he married her in the future. She had been a member of the board at St Mungo’s, very famous in the recent years as the host of the Charity Ball to raise money for the Permanent Spell Damage Ward of the hospital. Whatever good attention she might have gained with the Wizarding public would evidently be undone by her marital association with a social pariah. Not many trusted the Malfoys, and a great deal of them would love to see Lucius and Draco be life prisoners in a darkened, isolated Azkaban cell. 

Draco sighed, and looked at the letter for a long time, before removing his outer robes to change into more acceptable bed clothes. Tomorrow, he thought grimly looking at his now cold dinner and banishing it back to the kitchens, tomorrow he would ask his Mother about her weekend plans and then reply to Daphne’s letter accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so THIS is the chapter I've been waiting for, tbqh. It positions Daphne as someone formidable - not unlike Narcissa Malfoy - and a serious contender to win Draco's heart and while it may look like Daphne's letter to Draco proposing a marital alliance is a bit odd and out of character, i can't wait to explore the arc over the next few chapters. (and more astoria from the next chap! yay!) thanks for sticking around you guys and sorry for the long wait!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for clicking on this! Yes, a multi chaptered fic about Drastoria! Slow updates, though. Shout outs if you still want to stick around!


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